


Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Spreading Positivity 2020 [40]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Getting Together, Injured Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Protective Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing, soft Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 10:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: So if his dad hadn’t been the one to come home and get him into bed properly, and was now making him breakfast, then who...?Seriously, his embarrassment level couldn’t get any lower at this point. It was bad enough to imagine it was his dad, but to know Scott had come to take care of him was worse.But notnearlyas bad as the absolute horror and astronomical levels of embarrassment when Stiles walked into the kitchen and found Derek at the stove making French toast. Because of course it was Derek. If someone was going to see Stiles naked and passed out cold on his bed, why wouldn’t it be Derek? His long-time crush and provider of fap material? Sure, why not, life wasn’t horrible enough yet, might as well make it downrightdreadful!
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Spreading Positivity 2020 [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667605
Comments: 23
Kudos: 1278





	Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?

Stiles could honestly say he’d never been so fucking tired in his entire life. This was the most tired he’d ever felt. It was like he was dying. He literally couldn’t handle this right now, he needed sleep, and food, and a shower, and to use the bathroom, and probably other bodily needs he couldn’t even think of right then.

And he was in pain, on top of that. The battle was won, but not without a large amount of being tossed around like a rag doll. Really, that wasn’t his fault. If stupid Scott and Jackson hadn’t started having an argument _in the middle of their fight_ , Stiles wouldn’t have had to take one for the Werewolf team to stop them from getting killed. 

They were bad Betas. Horrible Betas. He was glad Derek had yelled at them after everything was over and Allison was helping patch him up. He was still in pain, but at least he wasn’t at risk of losing any limbs, so that was good. 

When he walked through the front door, he locked it behind himself, then just stood in the darkened front entrance for a few seconds. He didn’t know what he wanted to do first. There were so many necessities right now, and he felt like he was dying. Was this what dying felt like? He thought it’d be more dramatic. 

“Okay,” he said aloud to himself, wishing his dad was there to try and help him sort this out. “Heat up food. While that’s heating up, use the bathroom. Then eat, shower, and pass out. Hopefully not in the shower.” 

Okay, he had a plan. He could execute this plan, it wasn’t a hard plan. It felt hard, because everything hurt and his body was rebelling, but that was okay. He was an adult! Sort of. He was only eighteen, was that technically adulthood? 

Didn’t matter, questions for another day. 

Trudging to the kitchen, his shoulder and arm aching from his injury, he pulled open the fridge and perused it for something to eat. He pulled out some tupperware of chicken, giving it a sniff. He couldn’t tell if it was off or not, but figured he’d find out later. For now, he didn’t care. He didn’t have any milk left for cereal, and he would pass out before finishing making a real meal, so this was the best he could do. 

Shoving it into the microwave, Stiles set it for two minutes before heading to the bathroom to deal with that necessity. He was moving so slowly that it legitimately took him two entire minutes—longer, really, but who was counting?—to finish up in there. Washing his hands, he trudged back out into the kitchen to pull his mediocre dinner out of the microwave.

Was it still considered dinner at two in the morning? Sure, why not. 

Grabbing a fork, he brought the tupperware upstairs with him, heading into the second floor bathroom while taking his first bite and burning his mouth. He didn’t care, he had needs that needed to be satisfied, and he would survive a burned mouth if it got him into the shower and then bed faster. Efficiency! 

Stiles stood in the bathroom doorway while he ate, doing a stellar job at taking care of himself. When his meal was finished, he just put the container on the counter and stripped out of his clothes, getting ready for the shortest shower in existence. Honestly, he wouldn’t even bother if not for the fact that he was covered in mud and monster guts. He didn’t want that in his bed. 

Glancing at his arm and shoulder in the mirror before heading into the shower, he winced at the gross purple-black colour of the bruising, but didn’t dwell on it. He would heal, he always did.

Slowly. Like humans tended to. Stupid Werewolves. 

Stiles honestly didn’t know if he was going to survive the shower without passing out, he was so exhausted, but he somehow managed to get most of the monster guts and mud off _without_ passing out, so he considered it a win. 

Once he was out, he barely dried off before heading to his room, towel still rubbing at his skin. He dropped it beside his bed, debated clothes for literally a second, and then just fell onto his bed in the nude, head on his pillow and passing out instantly. His shoulder and arm still ached, but thankfully exhaustion won out because he was out like a _light_. 

He didn’t think he dreamt that night. That was how he knew he was tired, because usually his brain never passed up the opportunity to make him suffer while he slept, but apparently even his brain recognized he would die if he didn’t get a full eight hours. 

Or more. More would be preferable, honestly. 

When he finally woke up, the sun was shining brightly into his room and the sounds of life could be heard both outside as well as inside his home. Peeling open his eyes, he tried to take stock of his mental and physical state before deciding whether or not to get up.

Surprisingly, his shoulder was doing quite well. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he’d thought it would. And he’d definitely gotten enough sleep—could always use more, but he didn’t need to fuck up his sleep-schedule _too_ much. His stomach felt hollow and aching, so he needed food for sure, and his bladder was whining but not painful. 

All in all, he was doing pretty good. Felt like a real human again, so that was neat. 

Deciding to deal with the bladder situation first and then hunt down food his dad seemed to be making, Stiles threw the covers off himself and stood with a stretch. His shoulder _really_ felt good, wow. He reached under his shirt collar to touch it gingerly, then paused, frowning at the far wall. 

Hadn’t he... passed out naked? He was fairly certain he’d passed out completely buck naked on top of his covers. 

Stiles looked down at himself and found he was wearing his usual plaid pyjama pants and a black shirt. When he turned, he saw his bed dishevelled, but definitely slept in. Not _on_ , but _in_. 

Oh God, had his dad come home and found him naked and unconscious on his bed? Had he dressed him and tucked him in like the giant child he was? How embarrassing. It didn’t matter that his father used to change his diapers, Stiles was now eighteen and _no thank you_! 

Sighing and recognizing he couldn’t change the past, he headed out of his bedroom—noting his towel and pile of dirty clothes were gone—and went to relieve himself. Brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face, he figured he looked human enough and headed for the stairs. By the time he reached the bottom, he paused again, because he could _definitely_ hear—and smell—food being made in the kitchen right now but...

The cruiser was missing.

There was no cruiser outside

There was a distinct lack of cruiser parked in front of the house. 

So if his dad hadn’t been the one to come home and get him into bed properly, and was now making him breakfast, then who...? 

Seriously, his embarrassment level couldn’t get any lower at this point. It was bad enough to imagine it was his dad, but to know Scott had come to take care of him was worse. 

But not _nearly_ as bad as the absolute horror and astronomical levels of embarrassment when Stiles walked into the kitchen and found Derek at the stove making French toast. Because of course it was Derek. If someone was going to see Stiles naked and passed out cold on his bed, why wouldn’t it be Derek? His long-time crush and provider of fap material? Sure, why not, life wasn’t horrible enough yet, might as well make it downright _dreadful_! 

“You gonna stand there all morning or grab yourself a drink?” Derek asked when Stiles stood frozen in the kitchen doorway for quite possibly too long. If he hadn’t been a Werewolf, he wouldn’t even have known Stiles was there, so that was annoying. 

“How long have you been here?” he asked instead of moving to grab some much-needed coffee. 

“Three.” 

“Hours?” 

“No. Since three.” 

Stiles glanced at the time and saw it was almost noon, so Derek definitely meant three in the morning, which was only an hour after Stiles had gotten home. 

Cool. 

Cool, cool, cool. 

“Did you, uh...?” How did one ask if the love of their life dressed them and tucked them into bed without melting into a puddle of mortification?

Derek glanced over his shoulder then, eyes doing a quick once-over, as if assessing his mental and physical well-being before facing the stove again. 

“You were going to get sick. I found your pyjamas and helped you into them.” 

Oh _God_ , Stiles wanted to _die_! 

“Also the chicken you ate was expired, so hopefully I took away any kind of adverse effects when I stole the pain from your arm and shoulder.” 

“We didn’t have anything else,” Stiles said lamely. 

“I noticed. I went to grab some groceries a few hours ago. You like French toast, right?” 

“Sure.” Stiles kept shifting his weight uncomfortably at the kitchen door, unsure of what else to do or say. Seriously, this was so, _so_ embarrassing. 

Deciding things weren’t going to get any _less_ awkward, he just resigned himself to this horrible day and moved to grab himself a coffee. It looked like it had only recently finished brewing, and he wondered if his body gave off weird little signals that helped Derek determine when he was about to wake up. Everything was just timed a little _too_ perfectly. 

Once he had coffee—his life’s blood—Stiles headed for the kitchen table and sat down, watching Derek’s back while he finished making breakfast, muscles moving beneath his shirt whenever he shifted to do something. 

A few moments later, Derek approached him with a plate of French toast and some syrup, putting both down on the table. There was already some cutlery down, so Stiles nodded a thanks and proceeded to drown his breakfast in sugary liquid before digging in. 

It was so good he wanted to cry. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real meal. He and his dad didn’t really have time to cook ever, and half the time Stiles got stuck with take-out leftovers. 

Expired take-out leftovers, apparently, but oh well. Wasn’t dead yet! And given his life, he doubted it would be the take-out that would kill him. 

He sat in silence eating his food, taking his time with it because it was so good, plus _real_ food, _plus_ it had been made by _Derek_. Alpha Werewolf extraordinaire! This was one for the kids. 

Derek pulled out the chair across from him a few moments later, sitting down with his own plate. He was a lot more reasonable with his syrup, but Stiles was surprised to see him pour any on at all. Derek didn’t strike him as someone with a sweet tooth. 

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked, looking down into his plate and cutting the corner off one of his squares. 

“Fine,” Stiles said. “Better. I was basically dead last night, so considering, I feel really good. And uh, thanks. For, you know, the shoulder. And breakfast. And—not letting me freeze to death.” He didn’t want to address the fact that Derek had manhandled him into clothes while he was unconscious, it was still too weird. 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Derek said, stabbing at something else on his plate. “I only came over because I knew you wouldn’t.” 

“Hey now, I did okay!” Stiles insisted. “I made it home in one piece, I ate, I showered and used the restroom, and I slept. I did pretty okay.” 

“You ate expired food, could’ve passed out and injured yourself worse in the shower, and didn’t even manage to get under the covers before falling asleep while still soaking wet,” Derek insisted dryly, glancing up to give him a look. 

“I was _not_ soaking wet! I dried off!” 

“Barely,” Derek muttered. “I showed up at least half an hour after you got home and you were still damp.” 

“That’s an exaggeration, if you got here at three, I definitely wasn’t still wet considering I showered just after two.” 

Derek didn’t say anything, he just stabbed at his breakfast again. And as Stiles watched him, that was when he realized...

“You didn’t come over at three, did you?” he asked softly. 

Derek didn’t look up, he just kept massacring his breakfast. 

“You followed me home. Because you were worried.” 

“Everyone else was fine,” Derek muttered, dropping his fork and leaning back in his seat so he could take on his usual angry pose of crossing his arms and glowering at Stiles. “You barely made it into the Jeep without passing out. I didn’t trust you to get home on your own. I just wanted to make sure you got in okay, and once you did, I could tell you weren’t in the best shape. I only meant to check in, but everything was a mess and I wasn’t going to let you get sick because Jackson and Scott started fighting each other instead of the enemy.” 

Stiles couldn’t help the small smile that started to form on his face and he nudged Derek’s leg lightly under the table. “You love your precious token human, that’s adorable.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, his entire head going with it, as if to properly convey how dumb and annoying Stiles was. “I love my research machine, life would be infinitely more difficult without you.” 

Letting out a small laugh, Stiles nudged him under the table again, and saw the corners of Derek’s lips quirk up into the _smallest_ of smiles, even as his eyebrows stayed turned down into an angry frown. 

That just made Stiles laugh harder. “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?” 

“Eat your breakfast,” Derek ordered. 

“You _did_. Aw, Derek! Are we friends?” 

“Of course we’re friends,” Derek snapped, probably much more harshly than he’d intended. 

Stiles blinked at him, confused, but decided not to poke the bear any more on that since Derek suddenly seemed annoyed. He was probably still unhappy about one of his pack getting injured. He always tended to mope for a few days whenever it happened, and Stiles knew they _were_ friends, but he liked to tease. Probably just not appreciated right then. 

They finished up breakfast in silence, Derek taking their plates once they were both empty and bringing them to the sink. He did the dishes, cleaning both what they’d used to eat as well as the other items he’d used to make the food, and Stiles just stayed at the table watching him while drinking his coffee. 

Once he was done, Derek dried his hands and turned to look at Stiles, the two of them staring at one another. Things suddenly felt very awkward. Stiles didn’t like that it felt awkward. 

“I should get going,” Derek said, as if he hadn’t literally just spent the entire morning cleaning Stiles’ house and buying groceries and taking care of him. “I have Betas to train to death.” 

Stiles watched him walk towards the kitchen door, but before he left, Stiles said, “You know we are, right?” 

“Are what?” Derek asked, pausing but not looking at him. 

“Friends. I’m just teasing you when I say things like that. You know that, right?” 

Derek didn’t say anything about that, but he half-turned his head in Stiles’ direction. “How’s your arm?” 

“Fine.” 

“I should take some more pain before I leave.” 

Without prompting, Derek headed back over to the table and gently wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ wrist. He felt the dull ache leave him almost immediately, black lines appearing beneath Derek’s skin as he stole the pain away. 

Stiles didn’t mean to glance up into Derek’s face while he did it. Usually he just stared at his hand, watching the veins appear beneath his skin. He never looked up into his face, but today, something felt weird. Different. He didn’t know what was going on. 

So today, he glanced up at Derek’s face. He didn’t know what to make of his expression. He looked crossed between upset, worried, and adoring. It was... very strange. When he went to pull his hand away, Stiles grabbed at it with his other hand. 

Derek’s eyes shot from his wrist to Stiles’ face, and immediately closed off again. Like there was something to hide in his expression. 

“You know, Allison got hurt a few weeks back,” Stiles said softly. 

“I recall.” 

“You didn’t check in on her.” 

“I didn’t need to,” Derek reminded him. “She had Isaac.” 

“And when one of the Betas gets hurt, you don’t check in on them either.” 

“Because they have people to check in on them.” 

Stiles nodded slowly, still staring up at Derek. He licked his lips, let his mind do its usual quick thinking thing, and then came to the only possible conclusion. “Scott used to check in on me before. Even when he and Allison were together. Even when he and Kira got together. Scott used to be the one to check in on his human friend. But ever since the spring...” Ever since he’d turned eighteen, invited Derek over to celebrate and everything, had a huge party with the pack. 

“Are you checking in as my friend, as my Alpha,” Stiles asked quietly, “or as something else?” 

Derek’s face remained stony and expressionless. Sometimes, when Stiles stared at him like this, he forgot that Derek really _was_ only two years older than him. A kid who’d been forced to grow up much too fast. Taken advantage of by a sadistic Hunter bitch, watched his family die, lost his sister to a deranged uncle, become Alpha. All of that had happened by the time Derek was eighteen years old. For all intents and purposes, he was still just as much of a kid as Stiles felt. They’d both just been forced to grow up much too fast. 

“Maybe Boyd can train the Betas to death,” Stiles offered, tightening his grip on Derek’s hand. “Why don’t you hang out for a while? We can watch a movie, eat some chips, just... chill.” 

For a few seconds, Derek said nothing. It looked like he wanted to rip his hand away and run, his fight or flight instincts kicking in. He was probably remembering his horrible past with Kate. But Stiles wasn’t Kate, and he never _would_ be. He wanted Derek to be happy and healthy and in a good mental place. He cared about him, and had proven that multiple times over the past two years. 

They _were_ friends, had been for a long time. Ever since Stiles had literally almost vomited at the prospect of having to cut off Derek’s arm. He hadn’t _had_ to do it, he could’ve let Derek pass out and die, but he’d been ready to. He’d been ready to scar himself for all eternity if only it would save Derek’s life.

If that wasn’t friendship, he didn’t know what was. 

“Okay,” Derek finally said, very quietly. “If you want me to stay.” 

“I do.” Stiles let his thumb brush lightly against Derek’s hand, still holding it in place above his other wrist. “You need a break from being Alpha. You _deserve_ a break from everything. Let’s just find a movie and hang out on the couch together.” 

“Okay,” Derek said again. 

Nodding and satisfied with this, Stiles stood, letting their hands drop, and shooed Derek into the living room to choose whatever movie he wanted. Stiles grabbed some Cokes from the fridge and hunted down the chips he’d hidden away from his dad. The stock was low, which meant they’d been found and he’d have to find a _new_ hiding place. 

When he joined Derek in the living room, he sat down perhaps a _little_ closer than necessary, but Derek didn’t shift away or ask him to move. Stiles smiled and handed over one of the Cokes before ripping open one of the bags of chips with his teeth. 

And if he passed out drooling on Derek’s shoulder a few hours later, and woke up to Derek’s cheek resting on his head while he slept, one hand on Stiles’ thigh well, nobody else needed to know about it until Derek wanted to share it with them. 

To think, his day had started so badly, considering it had been two in the morning when he’d gotten home. He’d never expected to find out his crush had a crush back when he woke up this morning. 

Life was strange, but sometimes, that was more than okay with him. 

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis 
> 
> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).


End file.
